


i vill be right here

by braigwen_s



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blankets, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Sleep, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:33:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28952757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braigwen_s/pseuds/braigwen_s
Summary: Havelock sleeps.  Margolotta stands guard.
Relationships: Lady Margolotta & Havelock Vetinari
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	i vill be right here

**Author's Note:**

> "You know what would be really cute?" I say, already opening up a word document; this is the way every good story starts.

Havelock Vetinari lay with his face squashed against one curled hand, half on his side and half on his stomach, long, skinny legs dangling over the end of the old felt, floral sofa. His breathing was slow and even, and Margolotta Amaya watched with a combination of fondness and melancholy. It always saddened Margot that her friend could sleep more peacefully and openly in her castle than he could in his own palace. At the same time, it gladdened her that he slept here. And, again; it saddened her that human lives, the life of her friend among them, were so fragile and so brief. And, yet, there was such beauty in this fragility, in this briefness. There were wrinkles on his forehead, around his eyes, around his mouth, though sleep was smoothing them somewhat. As she watched, he drew his shattered leg inwards, trying to ward off some pain with his negligible body heat. Margot shook herself from her reverie, and crossed the room over the sofa where he lay. There was a pink fleece blanket folded over the back of it. She lifted it away and unfolded it, then walked around to the front of the sofa, facing Havelock.

Starting at his calves – for the blanket was not so long that it would stretch down to his feet – she draped it over him, settling it neatly around his slim shoulders; she tucked it in. Havelock stirred, rolling half onto his back, his muscles tensing for a fight; his heartrate spiked and his glacier-blue eyes opened. She bent over him, pushing her long, wavy black hair around her neck so it would not fall onto him. Her clawed fingers patted his shoulder, through the blanket. “Go back to sleep,” she told him, her face near his, overcome with tenderness she could take decades – no, centuries – to express in all of its true fullness. She had never tried to control his mind, but, nevertheless, he did as she bade him. His eyes closed once again, his muscles relaxed. His heartrate slowed down to a steady, ticking pulse.

His hair was still as black as her own - no, that was a lie she told herself. It was still black. She wanted to kiss it, feather-light, but she did not. Of such things self-control was made. “I vill be right here,” she promised, in a murmur he did not hear; she knew he had drifted back off to sleep. She backed away through the room again, and continued to stand her silent, watchful vigil.


End file.
